


Method Acting

by RAW_SYNTH3TICA



Category: Actor RPF, Unbroken (2014)
Genre: M/M, Male Slash, Mistaken Identity, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Drug Use, Romantic Friendship, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-12 07:39:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3349052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RAW_SYNTH3TICA/pseuds/RAW_SYNTH3TICA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the set of 'Unbroken', Jack goes through the tribulations for his greatest role as Louis Zamperini against another unknown actor by the name of Takamasa Ishihara. </p><p>Jack does not know that his costar Takamasa is actually credited as 'Miyavi'.</p><p>*rating for future chapters</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [STAILS565](https://archiveofourown.org/users/STAILS565/gifts).



> ALL IS FICTIONAL & NOT MINE
> 
> excuse the weird sentences, my Microsoft Word 8 crashed...goddamn thing!

Casting day had arrived, Jack knew he was competing against some big names in the industry, yet he knew what the director wanted: a strong, young lead whom could carry the character of Louis Zamperini with spirit and accuracy. The role itself had a life of it’s own and Jack knew the risks it required from first gaining weight in muscle and then losing a dangerous amount of weight to taking on a strict diet and exercise regimen in order to maintain the low weight, he knew from speaking to his agent and showing up for the screen tests that he had to dig deep and bring out some of the iconic scenes from Zamperini’s original book. Taxed, tired and exhausted past his limit, Jack reread the blurb of the titled film along with a small sample of a scripted scene from the film, he imagined the film to be in the exact locations in which they were written, within camps not unlike those famed in Europe at the height of the Second World War: filthy, tick-infested, and full of horrors. 

He had seen enough small telefilms and biopics of concentration camps and the reenactments of the travesties of war, each more terrible than the last, his favorites were of the Yeomen of the trenches and those depicting courageous deeds in the heat of battle, it was the only reason he was attracted to Michael Morpurgo’s ‘Private Peaceful’, and the only other reason he was urged to try out on Louis Zamperini’s ‘Unbroken’ after filming ‘Private Peaceful’ wrapped up. He had the military training down to pat from ‘Private Peaceful’ and ‘71’, his American accent was also on its way being that his mostly-British accent and sometimes-Irish came out when he was off-camera, he was committed enough to show up for a pre-taping with a haunted façade already in place – asked a few questions and reading a few pages from ‘Unbroken’ with a few dramatic interludes was not enough for the producers, nor the seemingly unmovable person sitting at the furthest end of the five-seated long table. Unable to help himself from sneaking a glance at whomever it seemed to be his competition, the other met his gaze head on, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as he thought ruefully ‘I fucked up. Shite! I know I fucked up.’ 

Being that his American accent still needed some tweaking, the producers decided on giving him a non-speaking role for the taping since he knew most of the book and script by heart, as horrible as it seemed, they planted the man before his standing self, he shook in his shoes for no reason at all but instinctively Knew that this person meant business for whatever scene they were to reenact. They referred to him as ‘Takamasa-san’, if anyone had ever given him a reason to refer to a man as ‘beautiful’, Takamasa was that reason; the man was taller than him, slim with a flawless complexion, those same brown eyes seemed as if to pierce right through him with the same intensity as a looming storm, and made the entire room fall away, he no longer thought of his agent, of the film or the role he was competing for, only Takamasa and himself seemed as if they were in a borrowed time for only the instant they were in the same foot space. His breath shortened, his hands began to sweat, a nervous flush broke out on his face as he fought himself for control over his erratic pulse, and he suddenly wished that he left his leather jacket draped over the back of his chair as Takamasa had done, but he could only stand as the man approached with murder in his eyes. 

“Look at me,” his eyes snapped up from the plain linoleum floor as commanded, the accent spoken was one he had never heard: each vowel and consonant heavily emphasized yet the words were fleeting and lacking enunciation as if they danced off Takamasa’s tongue. 

A deafening snap resounded against his left ear, he flinched slightly as realization dawned on him, they were performing a scene from the book, the scene after Zamperini’s capture and deportation into the Japanese internment camp, he jerked aside as if he had been hit, sucking in invisible blood and saliva through his imaginary split-lip, Jack stood up and steeled himself as he stood in formation within the collective ranks, he heard Takamasa’s low voice hiss, “Look at me!” 

Glancing up, again another snap caused him to automatically bend at the waist as the next strike landed on his thigh, he stood up carrying his leg at a slight angle and hopped in place as his eyelids hooded his vision, Takamasa said then, “Look at me!” 

This time grounded by the imaginary blow to his head, he slowly planted a hand over his knee and painfully stood against the officer, Takamasa leaned down toward his ear and whispered in a leveled tone, “Don’t look at me.” 

Before the scene went any further, Takamasa turned away and walked out through the doors as if they were still in character, but he felt as if he had done something incorrectly and Takamasa sensed that he was wrong for the role, his heart sank from the harsh critique on his acting, most of the time he was able to brush off the bad reception and the bitter criticism, being a young actor, he understood that he was still perfecting his craft within his field as a performer and each honest opinion was his one step further to either an Oscar or the BAFTA. As it was said in American show business ‘There is no such thing as bad press’, all those small comforts aside, he felt as if he had properly screwed the role of a lifetime, one which could catapult him into the mainstream films and to the bigger-budgeted pictures, after half-floating half-dragged out of the casting area, he was then told noncommittally, “We’ll call you, Mister O’Connell.” 

They could have just said, “Don’t hold your breath, loser.” 

But the passive-aggressive wording seemed more polite than outright shooting down someone’s dream, so he just took the phrase as it was and began researching other roles on both British Television and various independent films needing a supporting role or an extra until he was able to wait for the callback for ‘Unbroken’. A month passed before he was asked if he was free for the next two years and if he could fly to Los Angeles for the costume fitting, he was on the next flight out of London before the day was out. 

_

For all Jack knew, he could have been standing in a terminal in the early 1940’s where American soldiers were being deployed from base, but the various flashes of iPhone cameras and iPads or Bluetooth headsets was a sobering blast from the past in contrast to the hundreds of actors, actresses and extras in atomic-era fashion, makeup artists had styled his hair and gave it a black dye-job for historical accuracy’s sake, his pale-ruddy complexion was also evened out by a sunless tanner and light foundation to achieve a very Italian olive tone, it felt a little strange to have so many people poking and prodding at his face with paintbrushes and airbrushes until the person staring back looked like another man altogether, he looked like a younger Louis Zamperini than hmself. Then came the fitting after his makeup test, he was given a suit of ‘rough approximation’ as a team of tailors began nipping at the excess of cloth where he stood until the khaki uniform hugged comfortably, a maddening array of photographs were then taken from each angle of both his face and clothing to ensure its fit, and in case the colors clashed with his skin tone. Hardly catching his breath, Jack was then given the peace needed to study the script fully along with his diet and exercise plan, everything seemed grueling and overwhelming, but it was only half of the challenge to successfully delve into the role of Louis Zamperini. He tried different tones of dialogue as he played out the scene in his mind as he read, and as he was on the next chapter with an extensive description on the scene, Jack’s ears picked up a sound and out of the corner of his periphery came a motion along with a familiar face. 

Takamasa stood on the other side of the fitting booth, his hair slowly being styled and for a strange reason Jack had finally noticed the absence of piercings from Takamasa’s face, and gradually the resonance of a smooth hum came from the Japanese actor, the slender fingers sporting long perfectly-manicured nails tapped rhythmically along a nearby cufflink, the familiar breaks in sound and impeccably-tuned tap of fingers on brass seemed all too precise to be the noodling of an amateur, the dark eyes suddenly caught his own openly staring. Jack nearly fell back through the seat he occupied, the weight of the gaze again leaving him wholly flustered, he quickly glared back into the book and script as if conveying his complete interest in a subject other than Takamasa, reading over the same lines and paragraphs without actually understanding anything, he made invisible notes on the company’s provided tablet until he was sure that Takamasa had already gone through the makeup test and wardrobe fitting, he alas let out a breath and thought ‘So, he isn’t a secretary’ as he had already assumed weeks ago. 

Looking down at his tablet, he let out a breath and found his notes completely reduced to gibberish from all his false tinkering with the screen, out of nowhere came the warmth of breath accompanied by a whispered hiss, “Don’t look at me.” 

As he was about to turn around and confront the prankster, once more, the line of dialogue was spoken yet with more demand and conviction, “Don’t look at me.” 

A role had never stressed him as much as the one he was training and being fitted for currently, the only logical thing to do just then was panic and drop out of the film still in pre-production, but being true to his occupation as an actor, he stayed glued to his seat with his stack of scripts, director’s footnotes, itinerary and the paperback novel. The practice of scaring or bullying another actor from a role was not unheard of, he knew through interviews that some of the highest-grossing names in Hollywood had done the same for either the huge check or the accompanying fame, but sometimes actors needed a spine more than a status and Jack decided his reputation was well off and some people just need to get used to the fact that he was the lead of this film, especially from a too-pushy extra who needed to get over their god-complex. Takamasa’s stoic expression was equally disarming as it was unsettling, Jack blinked away the residual terror from their last meeting until all he saw was an ambitious actor ready to ruin him before he could get himself off the ground and into the coveted title role, he set his notes and script aside upon a coffee table provided for the cast, he leaned over the side of his seat toward Takamasa. 

“I don’t know what you’re getting at and I don’t care,” for the first time Jack tossed aside his usually-polite demeanor and enunciated each syllable just low enough that only the two of them could hear, “This is my role. So back the fuck off.” 

Hearing Takamasa draw in an even breath, he half wondered if he was already booted down the casting-roster by another competing actor, yet again, changes this late into production was a rare occurrence – all thoughts swept away, he sat stunned as Takamasa asked quietly as if afraid of the answer which was already known, “Why can’t I find a reason to hate you?” 

Unknowingly, his jaw dropped, before he could find an answer or elude the question he had no reply, Jack stuttered under his breath as Takamasa searched his face, as if openly seeking the solution to satisfy his reasons, Jack swallowed before asking, “Why would you hate me?” 

Jack was drawn in by Takamasa’s lack for words and the unguarded expression which seemed as if to come closer, his spine uncoiled rigidly beneath his shoulders, taking a breath of the light cologne from Takamasa’s neck, his eyes searched wildly around their two forms nearly touching yet found themselves tucked away in a nearly-deserted side of the lounge, warm breath tickled the tip of his ear and the clean short strands near his nape, the whispered tone shook him to his core, “So that you can forgive me.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is Waaaay overdue XP so i did it quickly  
> sorry

Ever since the last time Jack saw Takamasa all he could think of was to perfect his character as flawlessly and emotionally as possible, meaning that he was either character-studying with his cast mates or immersing himself into the role of Louis Zamperini by speaking to the man himself; some of those moments he had spent with the director and his cast members in the presence of Louis Zamperini was a mixture of absolute peace and anticipation, a sense of camaraderie formed within the first hour of their meeting, as if finding that he had a distant grandfather unknown to him until then. How anyone could be so lucky seemed so farfetched that Jack had to question himself if he was really dreaming or if he had finally made a name for himself in mainstream worldwide media, and in thinking so, he recalled the business luncheon that he had endured two months ago, while he was still a freelance actor still unknown beyond the Atlantic and English seas: 

The director and himself had another story altogether: she took an instant liking to Jack and was already made aware of his prior lifestyle as televised on the BBC network and the internet...and the show's MySpace page...that he was a perfectly-functioning wreck of an actor. Before signing for his role amidst a sea of hopeful young actors, he recalled the very stern and maternal talk that he had with the director, she pulled him aside to a private table and said, “Jack, are you absolutely sure that you want this part?” 

Multi-millions in the pocket, fame in the bag, a full ride through Hollywood, his career on the rise even before he put his name to the two-year-plus contract; Jack looked to his agent who sat just at his side a whole arm's length away, and to the director who sat before him to his left, knee to knee. The stern look on her face softened, she leaned next to him and gave a slight smile, “We understand if you are not able to fulfill the demands of your contract, but I, personally, would love to have you work with us on the film.” 

'Not able to fulfill contract demands'? Her strange phrase made him think back to 2009, even a little before and those demons of his past were unearthed, and most humiliating of all Found by the director and her retinue of hesitant film investors, Jack nearly slapped his forehead down upon the cotton tablecloth and left the business dinner with a tasteless litany of F-bombs and good old fashioned finger-flippings. 

His lips tightened at the thought of another actor filling his potential role after he dropped out because of the small 'Ah-hah!' moment, Jack's body began to sweat beneath the pressed v-neck and smoking jacket he wore, and just as expected, he glanced up from the frosted tumbler of iced water next to his right elbow to the stern secretary (but now whom he knew to be Takamasa-san) who sat unmoved to the left of the director, Takamasa's long fingers delicately balancing a lit cigarette which only collected ash as he took a small puff after flicking the heavy tip, the act itself was familiar and half-forgotten – and Jack swore to himself right then to at least make the best of his allotted position as a scapegoat of his own famously infamous past. Owning up was a small ego boost in hindsight, so he swallowed his pride and thought over his words carefully. 

He never once had to think through a career-making decision while as sober as a monk before, being that his last longest stint was on the British-version of 'Jersey Shore' mixed with 'Real World USA' and a few films in a blurry mess that was the past five years of his life, just a little more creative and honest-to-god watchable than 'Jersey Shore', Jack found the underlying tone of her words to be sincere and bust-balls serious, a second of self-evaluation and self-assurance later he stated, “Yes. It's a role that I can represent proudly and smartly.” 

She then pressed upon the matter as businesslike as possible, “We know of your...reputation, Mister O'Connell.” 

Heat flooded Jack's cheeks, tasting the shrimp cocktail and finger foods lingering at the back of his throat, he shakily grabbed for the water to douse the angry itch rising in his stomach; he thought to himself after setting the tumbler back down on the table 'How could I've been so Stupid?! So utterly-?!' 

“It was just-” he stuttered, not denying his past or even the evidence found supporting the director's theory of him, Jack glanced almost desperately from the director to his agent whom sat stock still and did not even try to overshadow his former life by smooth talking or segueing the conversation, feeling his future slipping away, Jack rushed through his thoughts as he hurriedly tried to at least renounce what he had done years ago, “Please, I can do better if you'd just give me the chance-” 

No one seemed to have heard him at all as the director scooted her chair to face Jack just in the slightest, yet it was the fact that the director's secretary (Takamasa) lifted the cigarette and took a long drag which unsettled him the most: he was taken by the man's enigmatic poise, silent and charismatic as a James Dean still-frame, without the secretary's (Takamasa's) unbearable stare Jack was lost and could not rely on himself for reassurance of reality, that he was even allowed to see the director's secretary again as an uninvited guest to an otherwise million-dollar ensemble of artists. 

Though desperate and drowning, Jack was both hopefully anticipating and absolutely terrified of the moment the secretary (Takamasa) suddenly loses interest in the table's flower arrangement, and he dreaded the director's words with equal measure; the silence lasted only a few seconds, and Jack could still hardly catch his short breath. 

“I know that you are very talented, and that you have an equally...sensational...social life-” she seemed as if both trying to convince the few stern unimpressed producers and studio heads, and at the same time to assure Jack of his worth, he thought again that she was attempting to let him down softly and reject him from the film, “-but we do not need any more socialite premadonnas in Hollywood, least of all in this particular instance.” 

He was speechless, and he felt the familiar sensation of eyes on his profile. 

“The studio and producers have warned me against hiring you as the lead, Mister O'Connell. They also looked further into your social affairs in London and Bristol, your work history on the BBC Network and your previous cast mates. Our search brought results, none which are good as far as first impressions go,” she stated, Jack felt every cuss word he ever said, every reckless thing he ever did, his emotions and the prominent slap of humiliation weighing down in his stomach, he motioned to his agent that their meeting was through and he was taking the first plane back to London, and she simply said, “Yet I am willing to offer you a chance, Mister O'Connell.” 

His mouth dropped as did his agent's, at the very corner of his periphery, he watched an outline of the secretary's (Takamasa's) lips taking another long drag, the heaviness of the actor's eyes never leaving him. 

“This film is very dear to me, it's a personal project,” the sincerity in her voice threw Jack off guard, just seeing the director bear her soul a little was enough to strengthen his belief that she was dismissing him from the film altogether, she asked, “You understand how important it is to me?” 

A respectful pause was in order, and a moment to think over his answer. 

“There's nothing about your vision that I don't realize, ma'am,” Jack said, and seeing her visible smile at his answer he glowed from the conviction and lack of dishonesty in his response, he quoted in his best American accent, “Ask me to jump and I'll say 'how high'.” 

The collective sigh of relief from the producers and studio heads made his smile grow wider, he knew then of the trust he was given, the thought was oddly thrilling and reassuring. 

“You are indeed a little rough-cut, and I hope your past social actions don't outshine your talent and true potential,” she reached over from one of the writers and took a thick folder, she then stated, “Please, read through the documents with your agent and your lawyer. Come to the set tomorrow if everything is to your satisfaction, we'll have the makeup test and wardrobe fitting before you begin training with an Olympic coach.” 

The company departed with many handshakes and pleasant good-byes, Jack strode out from the luncheon last, his high spirits still soaring in the clouds and thoughts about his career's future taking a brighter turn, waving off his agent to scrutinize the contents of the folder and possibly to contact his lawyer, he perched his aviators atop his nose, not for the fact of throwing off fans or media attention, he had no fanbase in America to speak of, so he just meandered aimlessly along a random boulevard, not really caring that he was new to Los Angeles or that he was in real danger of getting mugged. Everything was perfect, just as he had hoped though nothing was yet concrete concerning his part in the film, but the major hint that he was going to be trained by an Olympic coach tipped him off of his possible role as one of the extras, or daresay, the lead as Louis Zamperini. 

“Oh-!” Jack uttered, he looked up from the solid Thing that he had just walked into, met with the scent of lingering smoke and a strangely sweet cologne, he glanced up only to blush and stare at his shoes, he hurriedly shoved his hands into his pockets and half-smiled, “ 'M sorry, mate.” 

The same weight of the particular eyes on his face was almost as unbearable as the stressful luncheon, he glanced up at the secretary's long figure, the man's voice was low, smooth, lacking the heaviness of American enunciation, “Apology accepted.” 

Just as suddenly as they were face to face, Jack glanced back as the director's secretary simply stepped around him and continued down the boulevard in the opposite direction, not that Jack tried to notice, but even the other man's swagger was familiar, as if he had seen him before...Somewhere...Some time ago, the thought alone almost made him forget to notice the basic reply of 'Apology accepted' rather than the accustomed 'No problem, it was my fault anyway'. 

“The hell's your-!” he shouted and stopped as the other man looked back at him, the gaze alone made his mind go blank and his thoughts lose heat; usually, if someone had been in his face or outright rude, he was the kind of guy that went knocking out teeth and giving bloodied noses – but just those eyes bearing down on him made him feel pathetic, as if he were in the presence of royalty and he was the court's fool. 

Remembering his place, he dropped his right fist and grit his teeth as he watched the unfazed man turn around and continue to the valet parking, his celebratory mood took a turn and he Almost wished to be drugged and hammered at the same time – lucky stars be damned. 

Then again, Jack recalled the seven-digit figure and was thankful that he had not given into his impulse those past few weeks ago, he continued warming up as the coach paced around him, lecturing the virtues of a runner: “...Before that, you have to find your stride, where your body naturally forms itself to balance your weight on your legs in order to...more efficiently and lessens injuries...Are you listening, Mister O'Connell?” 

He caught himself spacing, he rose from the floor and said, “Natural stride, got it.” 

The coach looked at him skeptically. 

“Now, it's very important that you listen, because the director made her demands very clear that you will have the camera and dollie trained on you very closely during the sports sequences,” the coach reiterated sternly, Jack took note of the small joke about his proclamations days before of his willingness to shoot the running cuts by himself without outside help, “Unless you want to take back what you told her about not needing a stunt double to do your scenes.” 

“I can handle it,” Jack smiled good-naturedly, he leaned down deep over his wide-spread knees and continued stretching, “Go on, I'm listening.”

**Author's Note:**

> many of my family members are either veterans from WWII or are now active duty, so...in order not to insult Louis Zamperini's memory, this had to be an RPF no matter now Badly i wanted to do a smut of the film ;;_;; ...the book is beautiful in the most tragic way. 
> 
> in other words, it's been drilled into my head to Respect the military ;?


End file.
